


words and tricks

by spacebubble



Series: Quodo Moods Mixtape [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: (i'll get back to the soft quodo romance someday...), (or something beyond frenemyship at least), Autumnboy odo continually readjusting to his new life, Character Study, Developing Friendships, Existential Angst, Ficlet, Identity, M/M, Odo POV, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-15 01:31:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11795646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebubble/pseuds/spacebubble
Summary: Pre-canon: Odo's used to regarding others with suspicion, but doesn't know how to handle the reverse. He stops by Quark's for some perspective. He watches Quark mix a drink.





	words and tricks

When Odo sits down at the bar, Quark’s back is turned, searching for cocktail ingredients.

“Evening, Constable,” Quark says. He continues facing his shelves, rummaging through the bottles.

It’s oddly comforting, knowing Quark can identify him by the sound of his footfalls alone. Quark had mentioned making it a priority to note every security officer’s distinct pace over time, just in case. A simple form of advance notice, heralding whenever help (or otherwise) might be approaching.

Tonight, it’s otherwise. It’s a relatively peaceful night on Terok Nor, and while Odo doesn’t consider himself much of a social person, he finds himself socializing with Quark fairly often.

Come to think of it, he doesn’t have much reason to talk with anyone else when he’s not making an investigation or making a report.

Besides Quark, Odo can’t remember the last time he talked with anyone for reasons unrelated to his work.

Curious.

Odo grunts, which he didn’t intend to be an acknowledgement of Quark’s greeting, but he supposes it can serve as that.

“Any particular reason you’re dropping by?” Quark asks, glancing briefly over his shoulder before returning to his ingredients. “Something on your mind?”

There is, but Odo’s not sure how to phrase it.

The longer he remains on the station, the more he starts to notice how some people regard him with suspicion - Cardassian and Bajoran alike.

It’s rarely overt. Glances that get averted swiftly, whispers half-caught in the corridors. Nothing said to his face.

Even when it’s about his face.

Odo leans onto the counter, a habit he’s observed from the other patrons. “There _is_ something,” he tells Quark.

“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”

Odo’s not used to laughing, but he almost feels like doing so. A hint of amusement colors his voice as he replies, “It’s true, Quark. You didn’t.”

“Okay, great. Glad to hear it.” Quark sets down a bottle with a light touch, one of relief. “So what’s this something that I definitely didn’t do?”

“It’s not just any one thing,” Odo says. “It’s a cumulation of things that I’ve observed recently. I’m not sure how to describe them.”

Quark shrugs. “Try me. It’s a slow night. I’ve got time.”

“Very well.” Odo pauses to think for a moment.

He watches Quark open a bottle to sniff its contents before setting it down.

It’s relaxing, seeing Quark go about his bartending.

For a moment, Odo feels like he’s somewhere other than Terok Nor.

For no good reason at all, he remembers autumn on Bajor, and looking outside the laboratory windows at the leaves changing color. The sound of glass touching glass, and feeling comfortably secure inside a perfect sphere.

An odd feeling.

Completely irrelevant.

Odo thinks about touches, and how more and more people seem to recoil from him lately.

He sets his hands down on the counter and looks at himself.

“It’s becoming increasingly apparent,” Odo says, “that more and more people aren’t very comfortable around me.”

Quark tilts his head. “Uh-huh…?”

“I keep observing certain reactions. Negative ones. Even amongst the people I’m not apprehending.”

“Well, you’re a security officer,” Quark replies. “That tends not to put people at ease, even if they didn’t do anything.”

“No, it’s not just unease, Quark.” Odo also doesn’t like the thought of innocent people being nervous about a security officer’s presence, but that’s a topic for another day. “I think they’re disgusted by me.”

“Is that all? If it helps, other people think I’m disgusting, too,” Quark remarks, as if such opinions were nothing of consequence.  

“Not for the same reasons, I suspect.” Odo frowns, trying to find the appropriate vocabulary. “It’s more as if... they’re disgusted with the idea of me. Because of what I am.”

Quark raises a browridge. He almost laughs. “Ferengi aren’t exactly the most popular species in the quadrant either, mind you.”

They look at each other and Odo wishes he could simply download his thoughts into Quark’s mind somehow, or transmit them without having to rely on mere words.

Perhaps this was a waste of time.

Odo sighs. “Never mind.”

And he gets up to go.

“Hey, Odo, don’t leave.” Quark steps closer, bottles abandoned, leaning on the counter. “Stay a while. Go ahead, tell me more about how disgusting you are.”

Odo sighs more loudly this time, provoking an amused smile from the bartender.

He finds himself reluctant to leave the company of the one person who seems to enjoy it, so he sits back down in the barstool.

He can’t quite put a finger on the feeling, but there’s an acceptance from Quark that undermines the surface antagonism they share with one another.

Perhaps it’s because Quark’s acceptance of him never feels performative, unlike Gul Dukat’s overly charitable condescension, or Dr. Mora’s poor attempts to compensate for the past.

Odo folds his arms and leans his elbows on the countertop. “I’d rather people simply accepted me for what I am. Instead of thinking my entire body is a deception of some sort.”

Something begins to click for Quark. “And you hate deception.”

Odo nods. “I don’t want people to think that I’m trying to deceive anyone with my form. And I don’t know how to prove to them that I’m not.”

He watches Quark begin to pour ingredients into a glass. The Ferengi has a thoughtful look on his face.

“So why bother?” Quark asks.

“What do you mean?”

Quark glances up at him intermittently as he continues pouring. “Why go through the trouble of proving yourself to people who’ve already made up their minds about you?”

“Because that’s not how the balance of things ought to be.” Odo watches the ingredients turn clear as they mingle with the liquor already inside the glass. “People shouldn’t be disgusted by me, or frightened by my very existence.”

“But you’re a security officer.” Quark smiles slightly. “Isn’t that part of the job description?”

Odo knows it’s Quark’s attempt at a joke, but he doesn’t smile back. “No, Quark.”

“Sorry.” Quark resumes mixing his drink. “But it can’t hurt, can it? Having people respect you?”

“Fear’s not the same as respect,” Odo says. “I’d rather have the respect without the fear.”

Quark snorts. “Now you’re sounding like a Federation hu-mon.”

“I haven’t met anyone from the Federation yet.” And Odo pauses for a moment, wondering how a Federation human might react to his existence. “But it’s my understanding that they resemble Bajorans.”

Quark nods. “More or less. Plainer in the nose area, but both genders still have incredibly small lobes.”

The fixation on ears routinely annoys and amuses Odo. Tonight, it’s a fairly even balance of both.

“I’ll never understand your obsession with lobe size,” he tells Quark.

“It’s a Ferengi thing.” Quark tilts his head, eyeing him. He grins.

“What?” Odo asks, suspicious.

“Nothing. Just thinking about what you might look like with…” Quark shakes his head, still grinning to himself. “Just a dumb thought. Why you keep choosing to look like that Bajoran scientist you hate, I’ll never know.”

“I’ve gotten used to this form,” Odo says, somewhat defensively. It’s not so much a choice as a limitation, but he doesn’t like letting others know that. “And I don’t hate Dr. Mora.”

(Technically.)

“No,” Quark replies, almost in a sing-song, “you merely despise his substandard methods and his half-assed science parenting.”

Odo blinks. “Well. Yes. Not exactly in those words, but yes. I’m surprised you remember.”

He watches Quark’s face turn a darker shade, and wonders why.

“You ever hear of a forgetful bartender?” Quark asks.

“I don’t hear much about bartenders in general, besides you.”

And Quark laughs. “Glad to be the number one bartender in your life, then.”

“That’s not entirely -” Odo frowns. The assertion is technically accurate. He’s not sure if he likes that fact.

“Anyway,” Quark continues, still smiling, “so you’ve gotten used to modeling yourself after some guy you don’t even like very much. You could model yourself after someone else instead. Or just come up with a new look altogether.”

Odo remains silent.

He’s certainly considered such a change to his customary appearance, before. Even though he couldn’t master more specific faces quite yet, there were still other variations he could pursue.

But each variation seemed false, somehow. As if he were deceiving himself in addition to deceiving others, by pretending to be something he wasn’t.

He expects Quark to break the silence, but the bartender simply looks back at him, waiting for his reaction.

Odo doesn’t know what to do, so he unfolds his arms and places his hands on the counter.

“It wouldn’t change anything,” Odo says. “I could change myself into any manner of appearance, but the fact that I _can,_ is what others find so disturbing. Even if I could make myself a different, more exact face, it still wouldn’t be enough.”

He laughs.

Quark doesn’t.

And something about Quark’s uncharacteristically solemn reaction, or lack of reaction, makes Odo want to change the subject.

“Some humanoids seem to believe I’m contagious,” Odo remarks. “That if I come in contact with their skin, they’ll become infected with whatever makes me what I am.”

(The thought isn’t pleasant, but it’s a less disquieting concept - having the power to transform others, instead of remaining a solitary deceiver.)

Quark glances down at Odo’s hands. “Can they?”

Odo snorts. “If only. Then I might not be the only one of my kind.”

He sees Quark set his hands down on the bar counter, fingertips opposite his.

They’re almost close enough to touch, and Odo considers reaching out to Quark, just to see how the bartender would react.

“Would you want to be a Changeling?” Odo asks, looking at the contrast between his monochrome fingernails and Quark’s shimmering manicure. The colors shift in the light from blue to aquamarine.

Quark laughs. It’s not unkind. “Would you want to be a Ferengi?”

“Not particularly,” Odo replies. It’s a new thought. Even though it’s a hypothetical one, he’d rather not think too much about it. “I’m used to being myself.”

“Same here.” Quark drums the pads of his fingertips on the counter. “Interesting thought, though. Turning into a shapeshifter.”

Suddenly Quark leans closer -

And lightly slaps the backs of Odo’s hands.

Odo snaps his head back up, startled.

Quark doesn’t look at him. Instead, the Ferengi’s busy examining his own palms, hands raised up to his face for inspection.

“Well, that didn’t do anything,” Quark says. He lowers his hands to look back at Odo.

“Quark,” Odo says, exasperated. “Why did you do that?”

Quark grins. “Say I did catch some shapeshifting. Could’ve been a useful business advantage, don’t you think?”

“There was no possibility of success, Quark.”

“Even so.” Quark claps his hands together, then reaches over and sets the drink he was mixing onto the counter. “Figured I’d check, just in case.”

Odo eyes the glass. The liquid inside is perfectly clear. “What were you making?”

Quark leans an elbow onto the counter, then raises a hand to the glass.

“Here,” Quark tells him. “Watch this.”

He flicks the glass sharply, and Odo watches the liquid inside swirl and transmute into warm shades of orange and gold.

The vibrant hues remind him of falling leaves and slanted sunlight, and the sounds of sleepy birds returning to their nests.

He’s never wanted to return to Mora’s laboratory, but he does sometimes miss the seemingly limitless expanse of Bajor’s skies, and the freedom of soaring through them as a bird.

Odo watches the colors fade into a single shade of muted gold, and he looks back up at Quark.

There’s a soft expression on Quark’s face. It quickly vanishes, like the colors of the drink in the glass, but Odo knows he didn’t imagine it.

“Nice trick,” Odo tells him. “What’s it called?”

“Samarian Sunset,” Quark replies, before taking the glass back. “And it’s not a trick. Just a simple set of chemical reactions.”

As Quark drinks the sunset, Odo wonders how it tastes.

Perhaps, someday, he could learn.

And then, perhaps, he might become more accepted.

But for now, at least, Quark accepts him for who he is.

It’s not enough, Odo thinks, as he bids Quark goodnight and prepares to depart for the evening.

But it suffices, for now.

**Author's Note:**

>  _It's a luscious mix of words and tricks_  
>  _That let us bet when you know we should fold..._  
>   
>  **the shins** // caring is creepy
> 
> *
> 
> the song title doesn't have much to do with the actual fic, but the lyric...! what a quodo thing.


End file.
